Oceans of Truth and Lies
by pleasesayitsnotso
Summary: Written during and after Captain America: The Winter Soldier (spoiler alert), Steve and Natasha endure the changes in their relationship and contend with their feelings through separation, reunion, trauma and loss.
1. Oceans of Truth and Lies

_"__Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too-even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling."- Mitch Albom_

* * *

As Steve glanced up he caught sight of the red head, in a despondent like trance, a dead look in her stare conveyed an unfocused Natasha. Something which he had never beheld before, and incited a feeling of uneasiness and unrest. Natasha was unlike any woman he had ever met, her resilience and strength emanated from every particle of her being, and it had become somewhat of a comfort. Whenever he felt out of depth or uneasy, he looked to her for the steadiness that grounded him, and made him at ease within a time he was not born into. She was his anchor in a storm of technology, war and chaos in the modern age. Therefore this aura of a woman out of character prompted him to question the source of this disturbance, something that was rarely contemplated when it came to Natasha,

"You ok?" The sound of Steve entering the room had drawn her from her thoughts, and she resumed towelling her hair,

"Yeah." However he noted an unconvincing waver in her delivery of her response, and she tried to cut off any further conversation by averting her gaze back to the spot she had been staring at previously. He was used to the iron walls that Natasha frequently built, however the weakness in her voice alerted him further to the need to pry. He continued drying his hands, shifting the towel from one hand to the next in preparation for his next approach, before finally flinging it on to the floor of the bathroom, and with a sigh stepping into the room. With, what Natasha regarded as an intrusive move, he crossed the space between them, her eyes flickered up to him and her brow creased as she prepared herself for the discomfort that this conversation would surely bring.

As he sat down, bringing his face to her level, the crease in her brow eased, and although she felt disgusted at how vulnerable she was right now, his close proximity brought with it a feeling of serenity and calm which she welcomed. She would never admit to anyone, but Steve brought something that she rarely encountered, a sense of virtue and innocence that within this world of darkness gave her light and hope when she felt she had truly lost herself. When she truly thought that she was consumed by the dripping red, that was her ledger a gentle smile bestowed by Rodgers guided her out of the shadows that haunted her. She was reminded that within the ocean of blood, murder and vengeance, that the ever-forgiving light of the stars would guide her to safety. He was the constellation, that pulled her from the murky depths of obscurity.

His crystal blue eyes, met hers of stormy grey as he softly ushered,

"What's going on?" And in that instant she felt the walls that had guarded her so well for all these years, disintegrate and a swell within her chest pushed against the walls of her heart. As if despite the limitations of her mind, biologically her body needed to share a part of her with him, whether she consented or not. He patiently waited for her response not pushing not pulling, no expectations just concern. After a brief moment she pulled herself back to the present,

"When I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I thought that I was going straight." She nodded her head in affirmation, as if to confirm to herself that it was the right thing to do. It also brought with it a sense of control, something she felt little of in this instance. Yet again he noted her eyes wonder out the window, as if to avoid the confrontation that was occurring, something which concerned him greatly as it was often Natasha who relished confrontation,

"But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra." She hushed as her eyes glided back Steve, before she gently lowered her gaze in shame. How could she a woman built on lies, have the audacity to stare into the face of a man sculpted by honour and truth. A sigh leaked from her lips, as her heart pounded,

"I thought I knew whose lies I was telling but..." She shook her head, a half-hearted smirk forming across her face as she tried to build a shield from the remnants of her walls, before her eyes finally reached his,

"I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business." An echo of what she had said in the car briefly shocked her before a smile crept upon her face. Steve was glad he had chosen to crack a joke; he felt that the weight of the conversation had increased by tenfold. Plus on the rare occasions that Natasha smiled, she positively glowed, and right now that was the only thing he could do to ease the betrayal they both felt.

As she averted her gaze to his tender smile, she felt the weight of all her lies collapse on her. All her life lies had kept her safe and made her feel in control, and now she had found out that in fact lies had also lead her into the uncertainty that was the present. Her lies had fabricated her very being, and now she felt them slacking and unravelling at an alarming rate. The man presented before her, who personified truth and valour had in fact saved her from the peril of deception, another debt she felt she would never be able to repay. With that lingering thought she was brought to the present with a violent slam to the realisation that Steve had saved her without knowing a single slice of truth about her,

"I owe you." She uttered, he firmly shook his head in response,

"It's okay." She now felt that this was time to ask the question that had started to eat away at her, an itch she could never scratch,

"If it was the other way round, and it was down to me to save your life. You be honest with me... would you trust me to do it?" Their stares bore into each other. Natasha enraptured by the wonderment of how this man could ever trust her, and how he could ever find something within her that was worth saving. Steve on the other hand was stunned by her question, this conversation had already unearthed more from the red head than he thought possible, and he could not deny that there were many moments when he distrusted her judgement and decisions. But they were still alive, and she had been a significant part of that,

"I would now." He stated. Natasha felt all the tension in her muscles release and felt a fluttering in her stomach which she quickly put pain to. She had no time to feel, nor did she deserve it. She didn't deserve the trust and friendship this man bestowed and offered, and she knew she never would. Steve leaned forward lightly tapping her knee playfully with his hand as he smirked and said,

"And I'm always honest." She let a grin creep across her face; a grin that Steve wished was a permanent fixture as it ignited a sparkle in her eyes that captured his heart and twisted it ever so slowly, inducing a relenting but addictive ache, that he craved. He dared not to interrupt this moment between them but inexplicably found his hand moving upwards to cup her face. Their eyes never broke focus from each other and Steve was surprised to see that Natasha didn't flinch from his touch, as his thumb gently stroked the contour of her cheek. Natasha was surprised to find her hand had wrapped itself around Steve's other hand that was placed in his lap, the yearning throughout her body betrayed her emotional defences and she felt herself fall into his touch,

"I made breakfast... if you guys need that sort of thing." Sam abruptly announced. They had ripped apart from each other as soon as they heard Sam's footsteps approaching, and now all that remained was the slight heat that radiated from each other's touch and the unforgiving loss they both now felt.


	2. Flight of Fear for the Future

_**"No more words. We know them all, all the words that should not be said. But you have made my world more perfect."**__ ― __**Terry Pratchett**_

* * *

_"__Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love."_ _\- George Eliot_

In that instant they became lost in each other's eyes as a whimsical smile crept across both of their faces, neither wanted to admit to the storm of emotions and feelings that swirled beneath their facades. They had been through a lot, and those experiences did not come without considerable emotional baggage and connotations. Natasha took in the form of the gallant man before her, his sapphire eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the sun's rays, however they were tinted with the gloss of a man who had seen much more than his youthful looks inferred. His golden hair was tousled and the brown leather jacket he donned regularly enhanced his broad shoulders, small waist and toned abdomen. He was the epitome of masculine excellence, enhanced by his kind, gentle and courteous character he fulfilled the dream man for many women around the world, perhaps even including herself.

Natasha gently placed her hand on his shoulder and gracefully leaned forward pressing her lips gently to his cheek, he obliged to the action moving to meet her half way and tilting his head to allow her access to his cheek. The warmth of her kiss now not only seared onto his lips but now his cheek, as if she was purposefully trying to mark him, leaving him reminders to never forget her. The tenderness of the action stunned Steve and as they slowly moved apart he looked at her in suppressed astonishment. She responded with a gentle smile, a rarity in itself, he captured it and locked it away within in his memory, because how long was it going to be before her saw her again. Would he see her again? He memorized the way her vermillion tresses brushed over her sharp cheekbones, framing her face perfectly before meeting her strong shoulders. Her eyes glinted with defiance, mischief and mystery, and her porcelain skin enhanced their brilliance. She was unequivocally an exemplar model of an independent and deadly woman; one with whom he wished would allow herself the chance of happiness.

Natasha felt amused at Steve's startled reaction, and she convinced herself that's why she did it, because she loved to do the unexpected it kept people guessing and allowed her to keep them at a comfortable distance. She was kidding herself of course, throughout their time together she had become quite attached to the Captain and to the calmness he emanated. She was fire, wild, un-predictable and ferocious whilst Steve was the ocean calm, reassuring and forever there embracing every element of her being. Although they were considered polar opposites, they intertwined creating an intricate pattern between dark and light, hot and cold, a perfect contrast. Natasha broke the moment by turning abruptly and started to walk away before stopping and turning to him,

"Be careful Steve, you might not want to pull on that thread." From the moment she saw that Steve had recognised the Winter Soldier as James Barnes she saw the crack in his armour, and how the vivid crystal blue of his eyes had degenerated into pools of dull grey at the sight of what was now a shadow of his best friend. In her identity and recognition of his weakness, she had found her own and that was enough to indicate it was time to leave. She turned swiftly on her heel and marched purposefully away from him. Steve had noted the dead pan delivery of her heeding however it did not diminish in anyway its meaning, she wanted him to be careful, she wanted him to not get hurt; and that meant more than he thought. As he watched her move away from him he found himself not moving, and surprisingly, hoping that she'd turn around one last time, because that always happened right? In the movies, as two people parted the one walking away looked back and the inclination of redemption was passed wordlessly between them, tying them together with a bond that would bridge the absence felt throughout their future lives until they meet again.

Natasha increased the pace of her walk, knowing that if she faltered just once she wouldn't be able to leave. Without even turning her head she knew that Steve would be stood watching her, waiting for a sign that they would see each other again. She couldn't bestow that promise upon him, if she couldn't keep it she could not handle being the origin of any emotional pain Steve endured. It wasn't until she had nearly reached her car that she realised her hands had been curled tightly into fists and her nails had marked her palms with semi-circular indents, with a sigh she glanced at Steve's motor bike that was parked up and pulled open her car door. Their time was over.

As Natasha faded into the far off distance not once did her head turn, and he knew he should've known better than to expect any notion of hope for reconciliation. He knew she had already revealed too much of herself to him, and that her fear of the intimacy that had developed between them had ignited her fight or flight response. **This moment was her choice**.


	3. A Vicious Absence

_"__I guess that's what saying good-bye is always like — like jumping off an edge. The worst part is making the choice to do it. Once you're in the air, there's nothing you can do but let go." – Lauren Oliver_

* * *

As the sun's rays relentlessly beat upon Steve's broad shoulders, a bead of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead over the contour of his cheek, a stern and focused expression that was usually displayed during combat and in the dark depths of a mission was painted across his face. However his concentration and pace was abruptly interrupted as he caught glimpse of a figure with porcelain skin, but with the form of someone who could not only entice but eradicate anyone in her wake. Although the one outstanding feature was her brazen vermillion tresses that swayed in response to the motion of her hips as she walked. Steve stopped. Over the past few weeks he had frequently found that his mind, when not consumed by the whereabouts of his childhood friend, had taken to being engrossed by the enigma that was Natasha Romanoff. He frequently found himself yearning for the companionship that Natasha had provided through a period of unequivocal betrayal and deception. The way she steadied him without even having to utter a word, just by her mere presence within his vicinity, or a glance from those deep verdant orbs made him feel secure within a time enraptured in inconsistency. Upon instinct Steve sprinted in pursuit of the woman, as he approached her swaying form he felt a surge of hope and expectation press sharply upon his rib cage, and it wasn't until he looked upon the young woman's startled face that he recognised the pain within his chest was now of a completely different nature. **It wasn't her**.

* * *

Natasha landed another blow to the punch bag hanging in her room, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down the nape of her neck. Although heat radiated off every inch of Natasha a very different story was to be told through the window, as the snow flitted down towards the street below in a twirl of icy splendour. Natasha paused, and scraped her, now dark mahogany, locks away from her face into a scruffy bun, and aggressively grabbed the water bottle settled on the table. Once she met the window she took a swig, and listened to the incessant beating of her adrenalized heart. She looked down on the tenebrous surroundings, lit inadequately by a few street lamps whose glow captured the innocence of the swirling flurry as it rested on the ground below. A low growl that echoed within her ears and the emptiness of the encompassing walls broke her lackadaisical overview of the street below. Turning her head she saw the incoming of a motorbike she identified instinctively as belonging to a certain broad shouldered soldier, who emanated class and the old fashioned values it brought with it. Without knowing it her knuckles on the hand clutching the water bottle had turned a brilliant white, and her breathe had unknowingly caught within her throat. It wasn't until the man removed his helmet revealing a lustrous raven mop of curly hair, that she let out a unexpected long, heavy breathe and she felt the cold trickle of water wrapping around her knuckles due to her overly forceful grip. **It wasn't him**.

* * *

Fighting the sinking feeling within his chest Steve managed to force out a genial apology,

"Sorry ma'm my mistake." Before turning swiftly and breaking out into a run at a blistering pace, with the wish to induce any other physical pain that could override the slight ache that now plagued his heart. He cursed himself inwardly at what had been now the sixth time this week his thoughts had been interrupted by the ruthless red head. He didn't know whether he was more disgusted at the fact he had fallen for the notion that she would be in the same place as he, or the fact he had let himself feel the irrevocable glow of hope at the thought of her return. He had deduced from the little information he had gleaned from Natasha that she was a woman who let the past be the past, no turning back. That was who she was.

* * *

Natasha slammed the bottle onto the windowsill and marched with purpose towards the punching bag before swinging her leg and forcefully kicking the centre of the bag and erupting into a whirlwind of kicks and punches. Each blow increased in force each time, accompanied by the aggressive vocals that leaked from Natasha's lips. She had always been taught that any inner emotional conflicts were to be transferred into a physical outlet, whether it be merely exercising or becoming the deadly weapon that many had feared. She was angry at the thought that for a moment she had let the idea of seeing him again take control of her, that was not who she was. She was angry that she could not forget the many ways he had saved her; the way his fingers had entwined with hers; and the way those eyes of true blue had bore into her tortured soul. With that thought she struck the punching bag with a kick so forcible the bag detached from the ceiling landing with a large thud at her feet. This was who she was meant to be.

* * *

As Steve walked into his room, the sweat driving out of every pore in his body, he went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water and took a sip. He noticed on his table a few sketches he had absentmindedly scrawled during his morning coffee, they were all of female figures and each one had unintentionally captured the unforgiving curves of her form; the way her smile drifted across her lips in a positively charming manner; and the way her eyes sparkled with vicious beauty. With one hand he collected up all the sketches and placed them in the bin. **No more. For Bucky's sake.**


	4. Intrusive Wounds

_"__True lovers spend half of their life dreaming to get their beloved and half with nightmares losing them."  
__― __M.F. Moonzajer_

* * *

Walking towards his apartment door Steve grabbed his keys from his pocket and fiddled through the collection finding the one to his apartment, however as he cast his gaze downwards his eyes were drawn to the floor as he noticed an ever increasing river of blood that flowed, winding it's way along the corridor towards his apartment door. In response his hand hunted for the cool metal revolver that was tucked behind his back as he noted the desperate handprints that grasped at his door and the considerable amount of blood that iced the handle. Lightly pushing the door that was left slightly ajar, he crept along the hallway towards the living room, identifying the continuation of bloody hand prints that now adorned his wall. Whoever the injured intruder was they were bleeding profusely and clearly were struggling to stand up let alone walk. In apprehension he felt his rapid shallow breathes catch in his throat as his gaze followed the haunting light that fell through the window and into his living room. The hazy glow outlined a figure slumped lifelessly, at the foot of one of the living room chairs that occupied a corner of the room. Within the still darkness he heard the intruders laboured breathes, once assessing that the individual was too injured to be a threat from their lack of movement, he turned on the light.

As he squinted allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the bright white glare, it revealed that the floor was patterned with swirls and smears of violent red, leading him to the figure before him. Natasha. Her hair was no longer its brilliant vermillion but a jet black, it had lost its natural bounce and vigour that gave Natasha that youthful glow, as it framed her stunning features and enhanced her sparkling emerald eyes. Now her hair had grown longer and appeared dank and flat, and subdued her usually enchanting features causing them to dull and tarnish. However her eyes, when opened, still captured the light in the same way they always did causing her irises to glow jade green and her lips displayed the same fullness that drew you in, frequently enrapturing Steve in the desire to kiss them as well as listen to the precious words they so often commanded. Allowing the gun to slip from his grip Steve ran to her side, kneeling beside her he pulled the heavy green jacket that swamped her delicate but lethal figure to the side, revealing her hand to be pressed against her abdomen. Swiftly he grabbed a cloth from the kitchen and pulled her hand away from her wound, as he did so her breathe hitched and a frown adorned her brow line accompanied by a slight shake of the head and soft murmurings spilling from her lips,

"Shhhhh... Nat it's me Steve..." At the mention of his name Natasha's hand went to touch him however due to the severe loss of blood she had endured her hand failed to reach him and fell to her side paired with the soft haunting gasp of,

"Steve..." Looking at the wound he noted she had not been shot, she had been stabbed repeatedly. Although he had always trusted Natasha to take care of herself he felt anger swell within the pit of his stomach at the thought of her needing help and no one there to provide it. He should have been there. He shouldn't have decided to give up on her, to give up on them. He should have attempted to find her, shaking these lingering thoughts from his mind Steve addressed the situation at hand by pressing the cloth firmly against her wounds trying to staunch any further blood loss. With his other hand he grabbed the mobile from his pocket and called the one person who would answer and act fast,

"Stark its Natasha, she's at my apartment and badly injured, send medical help asap." Stark replied firmly, and he could already hear him moving immediately in response,

"You got it Cap." Replacing his phone back into his pocket he was now faced with the job of ensuring Natasha didn't bleed out or lose consciousness. Still firmly holding the cloth to her side his other hand brushed the hair from her face and cupped her cheek turning her to face him. Although it was without a doubt Natasha her skin seemed even paler, her cheeks were sunken causing her cheekbones to protrude unhealthily, her lips did not possess their usual claret bloom and were embellished with scars as well as fresh cut she had recently procured,

"Natasha stay with me okay... you're going to be okay... help is on its way... you're going to be okay..." For the life of him he did not know if this was really for her benefit or his, if she wasn't okay the irreparable wounds that her loss would inflict would scar him for the rest of his life. **_A reminder that he gave up on her, when she hadn't given up on him._**

* * *

Once Natasha had been admitted to surgery Steve felt an overwhelming responsibility to remain close to her, to ensure that she made it through. His heart was heavy and grave at the prospect that he could have prevented it, he could have prevented the copious amount of blood that spilled from Natasha's torso; he could have prevented the sorrow and worry that laced the gaze of every Avenger; he could have prevented all of this. Despite his desire to remain as close to her as possible, Stark instructed Steve to sleep in a guest room at the Avengers tower, and regardless of his best efforts to refuse Steve soon found himself laid on a bed surrounded by the terrifying silence and darkness that accompanied the mournful workings of his troubled mind. Soon enough his heavy eyelids fell closed and the unwelcoming curse of sleep took hold.

Steve opened his eyes identifying that he was stood in his living room again, before him lay the figure of Natasha exactly the same way he had found her, however this time the blood pouring from her wounds seemed to be alarmingly fast. Placing himself at her side he quickly tried to prevent its torrid continuation however now it passed through his fingers, flowing onto the floor burning his nostrils with the metallic iron stench that followed it,

"Natasha... stay with me... no, no, NO... you can't leave me!" He felt his body wrack with sheer panic and his eyes scoured her face searching for any sign of life, but with the amount of blood that had now left her body it was a surprise that she still held any colour in her features. Looking down Steve saw that the blood had now reached his waist, and before he could think about standing upright to avoid the crimson sea that threatened to pull him under, he noticed that the ceiling had now lowered to just an inch above his head. Pulling Natasha's lifeless body towards him, he held her close to his chest cupping her face in his hand, allowing his thumb to stroke the soft contours of her cheek. As the vibrant tide loomed towards him, ready to consume his airways and drag him into the depths of death he used his last breathe to choke out,

"I'm so sorry." Allowing the bitter liquid to devour them both he closed his eyes, and prayed that this was the end.

His face was hit by a soft gust of wind, which brought with it the comforting warmth of the sun, opening his eyes he saw he was now stood in the graveyard where he and Natasha had parted a year or so ago. He looked on as her hips swayed, coaxing her vermillion tresses into a gentle dance across her shoulders allowing his gaze to follow downwards and to her petite waist that was enhanced by her beige fitted jacket. Elated by her presence he called after her,

"NAT! NATASHA!" She fails to respond so he tries to move towards her but finds his feet are stuck firmly to the ground, looking down at his feet he finds nothing visible there to restrain him, looking up he finds that Natasha is now gone however in her place stands Peggy. His beautiful Peggy. She stands there her flawless skin positively glows in the sun's rays, and her hair is styled in the same manner it always was, the style he liked best. Her eyes gleam in the sun however they look distant and the usual light and strength that they emanated is lost within the depths of those dark pools. In her army uniform her eyes fix on him before her scarlet lips state firmly and coldly,

"There seems to be a pattern occurring Steve. Do you always leave the ones you love? Give them up at the moments they need you most? Like you did to me." At those words Steve felt a sharp stab in his chest and when he tried to respond, to assure her he never meant to leave that he was sorry, no words fell from his lips. Turning away from him Peggy walked away, he tried to follow however yet again he was held still by an invisible force, looking down he noted he was now wearing a black suit. Feeling a sharp gust of wind whip at his cheekbones he looked up to find black clouds adorning the sky above and skeletal trees embellished the skyline. Looking across the graveyard he saw a group of people also dressed in black, looking closer he saw it was all of the Avengers, bar one. Stepping forwards he realises he has now been released from his invisible shackles, breaking out into a sprint he heads towards the mourning group, as he gets closer he realises Natasha is the one missing, this only makes him run faster. When he finally reaches the grave all the Avengers have dispersed, kneeling down he looks at the gravestone his eyes flickering in sheer panic he reads the name over and over again as if he had misread it or it may have been his mistake. To his dismay it unmistakably reads: Natalia Alianovna Romanova. **Natasha is dead.**

* * *

_I'm not so sure whether I like how this chapter turned out so please review I'd like to know what you think. _

_Apologies for this chapter taking so long I hope you enjoy it __**:)**_


	5. Reassurance of Relief

_"__Every time you almost die, I almost die myself."  
__― __Cassandra Clare_

* * *

Awakening from the horror that was the dream that had scraped and clawed at his mind, gripped and ripped at his heart causing a pain that tore through every cell in his body, he wrenched his eyes open as he pulled his body violently upright. His aggressive strenuous breathes were released and eased the excruciating tightening that had befallen his chest. For the following minute he sat allowing his body to recover from the terror it had endured, his heavy laborious breathes the only sound to accompany him in the dark cool room, allowing his heart rate to slow and the tremors that had racked his body to recede. Once he had managed to compose himself, he pulled himself from the bed and swiftly grabbed his shoes pulling them on and tying them in haste, before making his way towards the door pushing it closed and breaking into a sprint. **He needed to see Natasha**.

Since Natasha's admission, her vitals had steadied and therefore the hustle and bustle and delirious panic that had accompanied her arrival had dissipated allowing Steve to slip into her room with ease. She lay on the bed perfectly still; her mahogany tresses adopted the soft curls that she used to sport, adorning her pillow and tumbling slightly over her shoulders. Her features were relaxed and peaceful, despite her still exhibiting dark circles under her eyes; protruding cheek bones and a cut lip which had been cleaned and neatly stitched. In stark contrast to his first encounter with her, some colour had now returned to her cheeks making her almost glow, as if highlighting the miracle of her survival despite the considerable and horrifying blood loss she had endured. A number of tubes and IVs were inserted into her arms, and the piercing steady bleep of the heart monitor penetrated the clinical silence that encompassed the room. Walking as softly and quietly as his muscular build would allow, he grabbed a chair and placed himself at her side, facing her, his sapphire eyes raking over her slight and weakened form as if reaffirming himself of her presence. She was here. She was alive. Without much realization he found his hands softly grasping the hand of hers that rested limply by her side, his thumbs tracing small circles on the back of her hand, indulging in the feel of her soft skin but wary of her precarious and fragile condition, his touch was light. As he looked upon her resting form, it all became too much for the soldier to bear, averting his eyes to the floor and letting his head hang limply as he still held her hand, he could feel the walls closing in on him and the tightening in his chest began to return creeping steadily up his neck, crushing his wind pipe, stifling him,

"Nat... I'm so sorry... I... I should have been there..." His voice was weak but as he thought of Natasha's bleeding body, the way she had murmured his name and how she had reached out to him despite her pain. His voice steadied and became louder; inflamed by anger he looked up casting his gaze onto her face,

"I should have protected you, this shouldn't have happened..." Although he did not realise it tears quietly crept from his eyes, slowly trickling down the contours of his cheeks, staining his skin with their pursuit,

"What mess did you get yourself into Nat?" With one hand he softly stoked her cheek; his adoring gaze swamping her with affection, a weak chuckle escaped his lips as he continued,

"Honestly you can't stay out of trouble for more than ten minutes." His voice now held an intimate and endearing warmth; the anger that had raised his voice had now left him, leaning forward slightly he lowered his voice to a gentle whisper, despite the fact it was only the two of them in the room,

"Nat, please do me a favour... Don't... Don't die. I... We all need you." Still holding her hand in his he rested his head on the bed, in the space near her hip, and recited the Lord's prayer over and over in his head as his eyes grew heavy and the steady constant beep of the heart monitor coaxed him to sleep.

Opening her eyes she felt every muscle in her body ache in deprivation, causing her to wince and an aggressive frown to adorn her brow line before she opened her eyes fully, fighting against the remnants of sleep and the drowsiness that the numerous drugs had inflicted. She knew automatically where she was now situated, however she had not been aware of the presence beside her until she recognised and unprecedented heavy warmth encapsulating her right hand, fingers intertwined with hers in the most reassuring manner. Turning her head slightly she saw the golden hair that was unmistakably Steve, his head resting on her mattress, his broad muscular shoulders rising and falling in tandem with his melodious shallow breathes, indicating the soldier to be asleep. She allowed a smile to adorn her lips at the sight of him, always such a worrier even in sleep she could see a slight crease in his brow as if even the relaxing occurrence of sleep could not ease the lines of concern in his youthful features. **She had missed him**. At that alarming thought she looked away from him her features returning to the stern placid expression that she so often wore, however despite the shield and facade of Black Widow slotting back into place she found that her thumb was now stroking the back of Steve's hand, trying to comfort the sleeping soldier as she very well knew he had probably been running ragged for her, mentally scolding himself for the condition he found her in. It wasn't his fault. It was hers. As her eyes started to glaze over at thought of what she had endured, she heard the slight rustle of material and a heavy sigh escape from Steve's lips. Turning her head back to him she saw him raise his head up off the bed; however he still looked down, squinting and shifting his features to awaken himself however he froze momentarily when he noticed that Natasha's thumb was gently caressing the back of his hand. His head now whipped up and he swiftly cast his gaze upon Natasha, a look of relief washed over him and immediately she saw the furrow of anxiety in his brow dissipate, his lips parted slightly but no words were uttered. Conjuring all the strength she had, her gravelly voice weakly uttered,

"Cheer up Cap, it might not happen." A smile now adorned his pert crimson lips, however the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, clearly his concern still remained however this was housed more deeply. In this moment Natasha noted how he had never looked so afraid; his expression looked aged as if wearied by the time that had gone by, however simultaneously they also held the frightful innocence of a young child exposed to the new horrors of life. Finally finding his voice Steve hushed,

"How are you feeling?" An amused smirk crept upon Natasha's lips, an expression he didn't realise he had missed so much until this very moment. Her voice was still hoarse and fatigued but it still held the light amusement and wit that he always associated with her,

"Like crap, but thanks for asking." He smiled in response, even when facing the experience of near death she was able to humour herself. **God he had missed her**. Lowering his head and gently bringing her hand to his lips, he placed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, and in that single motion he expressed every ounce of relief, affection and appreciation for the red headed spy. Looking back at her she saw a tear had escaped his deep azure eyes, rolling gently over his cheek tumbling over the smooth contours of his chiselled features. Moving her hand from his gentle hold she brushed the tear away with the side of her index finger, a most endearing and tender gesture from the typically emotionally reserved woman, before returning her hand back to his. Closing her eyes she grimaced, and gritted her teeth against the shooting ache that stabbed abruptly into her side, making her hand clasp forcefully around Steve's. Steve's face now returned to an expression of deep concern, his brow adopting its previous anxious appearance, as he stood up however keeping hold of her hand,

"Don't worry Nat; you're going to be okay." With that he turned away catching the attention of a passing doctor with a stern yell for help, before returning his adoring gaze to the withering form of Natasha, as she fought against the agony that had taken hold of her. As the doctor and nurse entered, Steve was regretfully asked to leave the room and with a slight reassuring squeeze of Natasha's hand and an expression of sympathy Steve left the room allowing the doctors to attend to her. Walking out of the room a large sigh and exhale of breathe escaped from Steve, a physical reaction to the relief he now felt, raking his fingers through his hair he realised.**She's alive. She's here. **


	6. Defensive Dissimulation

_"The bonds of silence and protection run deeper, for the moment, than his trust in me."_

_-Terrence Real_

In the duration leading up to Natasha's release from hospital, all of the Avengers visited her and displayed their individual show of care, whilst wordlessly simmering with a formidable rage at the person who put her there in the first place. None more so than Steve who, when not on a mission, was decidedly devoted to the red head and who was suppressing the vicious wrath that festered ferociously, amidst the mystery of Natasha's assailant. Despite many wary inquiries by all of the Avengers, it was made perfectly clear by Natasha that it was a subject she did not want to discuss, let alone provide an answer to, as she replied icily to each one with a decided shrug or a stern 'I don't know'. The adversity of not knowing had inflicted even more vivid and terrifying nightmares on the soldier, ones that seeped red, laced with the stench of death and brought with them the horrifying sentiment of loss. He wasn't the only one.

Natasha awoke with a violent and desperate intake of breath, one that made the stitches in her side sting and throb, reverberating through her flesh and ripping slowly at her senses. With a wince and a slight groan she managed to regain some level of composure however her cheeks bore stained tear tracks and her heart pounded brutally within her chest as her mind managed to clear the remnants of the nightmare that was. Since her return to the Avengers tower the nightmares had become worse, the vividness of the colours and sensations had intensified adding to their horrific affect on her, she had put this down to the lack of drugs within her system that had previously eliminated them so effectively. It was not that the Black Widow did not have her fair share of nightmares; she had encountered enough terrors to construct an innumerable number of abhorrent visions, ones that could torture a sane man into utter oblivion. Natasha's ability to cope was second to none, however her recent attack had rattled her far more than she'd care to admit, and amongst the graphic images that now disturbed her sleep she struggled to get past her traumatic encounter. Blinking rapidly into the eerie obscurity of the room her eyes quickly became accustomed to the dark, and with a hurried swing of her legs she exited her bed and the room that seemed to provide the perfect terrorizing platform for her visions to assault her. Her bare feet pounded along the hall way, the impact causing her abdomen to throb in a manner she had recently found incredibly comforting, if it hurt it meant she was awake, it meant the nightmares remained dormant. Just what she wanted.

Arriving at Clint's door she entered without knocking knowing it would be open, just for her, as she walked over to Clint's bed. Within the streaming silver gleam of the moon she observed the figure of the archer, laid on his front his arms splayed out wide and his head rested on one side against his pillow, causing his features to scrunch and contort into a highly unattractive expression of sleep, much to Natasha's amusement. Without opening his eyes, and accompanied by a languid movement of his arm, Clint pulled the duvet back revealing the expanse that was saved for her, allowing her to slip in beside him. Battling through the heavy haze of sleep Clint mumbled against his pillow,

"Nat you're gunna have to talk about what happened." As she shuffled deeper under the covers, delighting in the warmth radiating from the archer's body, a much needed reassurance, she responded with adamant conviction,

"I don't." With an agitated groan, in accordance with a gratuitous stretch of his arms, Clint forcibly opened his eyes bestowing a concerned gaze upon his best friend,

"Steve is driving himself insane about it he's just too polite to ask, and everyone else knows that their attempts are useless." With that an aggravated huff expelled from her lips as she turned her back to him, pulling the duvet up to her neck and allowing herself to be enveloped in the consoling presence of Clint, despite his irritating and irksome enquiries.

The next morning Natasha awoke relatively early to witness the hilarity and slightly disturbing view of Clint drooling on his pillow, as the soft growling drone of his snores filled the silence of the room. Grabbing a black zip up hoodie of his and pulling it over her white tank top and red pyjama shorts, she made her way to the kitchen, her crimson curls wild in the aftermath of a slumber plagued by unrest. On arrival she was confronted by Steve perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, donned in navy joggers and a tight white t-shirt, his hair also shared her style of disarray. In one hand he held his coffee whilst the other was occupied with the newspaper; his half-eaten toast placed before him. Making her way to the coffee machine Steve stirred from his deep study of the daily news, bestowing a soft welcoming smile that made his azure eyes glisten delightfully in the morning light,

"Morning, how are you feeling?" Leaning against the counter and crossing her arms she waited for the coffee machine to make her much needed beverage, allowing her to reply courteously,

"Achy, but I'm getting there. I just wish I could do something other than paper work or research." With that Steve's lips took on an adorable lopsided grin, accompanied by a sympathetic gaze, if there was anyone who understood the annoyance of being restricted from field work it was Steve,

"Give it time Nat, you need to heal." Grabbing her coffee from the machine she pulled it close to her lips, enabling her to inhale the heavenly smell that told her it was time to seize the day, as she responded with a clear edge of frustration,

"Yeah well, I swear this is payback for me clearing off on my own... which is ridiculous." At that she noticed that Steve had turned his attentions back to his newspaper, although he clearly wasn't reading it, with a deep breath in and a preparatory closing of his eyes, he looked up at her. His usually clear sapphire eyes were clouded by concern, causing them to lose their youthful brilliance that she so admired, and his features seemed drawn and aged by apprehension as he gently uttered,

"Nat... what happened? Who did that to you?" His brow creased in a way that made her heart sink at the sentiment so readily displayed upon his face, causing her gut to lurch and drop in a rare show of guilt before she swiftly and sternly warned,

"Steve..." Her eyes rolled back in her head, as she moved from her casual position, the feeling of discomfort and dread crawling through her limbs, inciting an irritable itch and a familiar urge to escape. Steve now sat bolt upright, his gaze flitting over her in desperation for an answer as he countered,

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but whoever did that... I can't stand to think they're out there still. Please Natasha... please tell me." Almost immediately he realised that his attempt to obtain information was futile, the veil of the Black Widow had now fallen into place, causing her expression to remain indifferent and her eyes to exhibit a look of contempt, one devoid of the playful sparkle and emerald glow that entranced him so. Looking him dead in the eyes, he felt an unnerving icy tingle emit along his skin in reaction to her disparaging stare, she sternly stated,

"I don't know." With that she walked out of the balcony doors leaving Steve with the perturbing inclination that she was lying.

Clint entered the kitchen in time to witness Natasha fleeing onto the balcony, whilst a dejected Steve stared despondently after her, his eyes betraying his helplessness and desperation to heal her. Not to mention the atmosphere of the room felt decidedly dismal, and despite the high tech heating alarmingly cold, Clint knows. Walking towards the fridge he opened it and grabbed the milk, dragging the captain from his longing reverie,

"She ice you out again Cap?" With a sigh of dejection Steve turned to address the archer, his voice filled with discontent and the sound insights a slight pang of sympathy in Clint,

"Yep... Clint aren't you concerned about whoever did that to her?" Pouring the cereal he procured from the cupboard Clint paused, and looked up at Steve, exposing a slight insight into the rage that roars within through his following words,

"Of course I am, I want to shoot as many arrows as I can into their god damn face, but Natasha won't tell us anything until she wants to. It's pretty much a losing battle trying to extract information from that woman." With that he sloppily added a splash of milk to his cereal before he grabbed a spoon and tumbled onto the sofa in an overt show of lethargy, turning to the large screen before him and putting on some inane cartoon. Shovelling large spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, in an ungainly and stomach churning manner, Steve assumes that their conversation is finished.

Looking out of the large windows leading on to the balcony Steve observed the perfect silhouette of Natasha, and in one swift sweeping motion he's off his stool and walking out through the balcony doors. The slight breeze teases through her crimson curls, causing them to flick and lick at the sky like flames, and for a moment Steve's mind is hijacked by visions of her blood, smeared along the walls, trailing along the floor, and he knows he has to tell her. Steadily and warily he walks towards her placing himself beside her, she doesn't flinch she doesn't even turn her head to acknowledge his presence, but she knows he's there. Her eyes continue to scan the horizon, and usually Steve would await eye contact before addressing her, it's merely manners, however he knows in this case it's not going to happen, so he precedes,

"Natasha when I found you there was so much blood... I... I'm haunted by that image forever, it will never leave me, and the anger I feel at whoever did that to you will never fade. I want to know who did it because I want to ensure it won't happen again... ever." His voice is firm and certain, as if he's never been more sure of anything in his life, causing Natasha to oh so slightly tilt her head in his direction. The motion is so minor, but indicates so much more, she's listening, she cares,

""The team needs you Nat... I need you, we can't lose you." At that she turns her whole body to face him, and her body constricts in agony at the expression on his face, at the look in his eyes, because the longing and yearning that pools there is heart breaking. Deep down she knows she can't promise him anything, and it terrifies her that she has affected Steve so much, that she inflicted so much fear, pain and worry. **So she does the only thing she can do: lie**. Reaching up to his cheek she gently brushes her thumb over his chiselled cheek bone, allowing one of her best endearing smiles to adorn her lips before replying definitely,

**"I'm not going anywhere."**


	7. Consoling Presence

_"Sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them."  
— __Veronica Roth_

* * *

Natasha's inner battle against the demons that had arisen since her attack, had become even more ferocious than ever ,much to her annoyance, and had caused her to become even more conserved than before. Regularly now her slumber was disturbed by vivid images and visions of her attack, along with all the pain it had inflicted, usually she would have retired to Clint's room where he would comfort her in his usual way, no fuss, no questions, just his presence. However Clint had recently been assigned to a mission of unknown duration, and despite his assurance that he could always stay and allow someone else to take it, her refusal to reveal anymore weakness inclined her to deny his offer, despite the fleeting spark of fear that struck at the thought of his absence. She had a vicious desire to fight back against the scars of that fateful night, to resume her somewhat normal existence in which she didn't relive it every night, didn't feel the stab of the knife, didn't hear the rasp of his rough voice; and didn't see his wicked smirk as he watched her bleed. Him. Just the thought of him made her sick to her stomach, and induced a shiver that travelled to her very core. Despite her resilience to the nightmares that plagued her, it had been four days since Clint's departure and this particular night the nightmare seemed as vivid as ever, she could feel the air leaving her lungs, could feel her body wracking and wrenching as it desperately tried to breathe and so with a violent sob that ripped through every cell in her body she awoke. Tears poured down her cheeks and the only sound she could hear was her own frantic gasping against the stark silence of her room, sitting up she palmed her hands over her face anxiously trying to dispel the unease that clung to her so brutally.

Since their parting at the graveyard all those months ago and their recent traumatic reunion, Natasha had not had time to revel in the returning and much missed presence of the soldier. He had saved her in more ways than she would care to admit, and she would never be able to forget the look of utter relief and joy that had embellished his features so beautifully when she had first awoken, the way her hand seemed to fit so perfectly in his and the gentle tone of his voice that soothed in a way she could never have imagined. Although since her attack, and her refusal to discuss it Steve had rather distanced himself from her, not out of malice but out of care and concern and the gentlemanly manners he always displayed. He gave her space because he thought that was what she wanted, what she needed. Surrounded by the sinister darkness; menacing silence; and the remnants of her nightmare another wave of tremors wracked her body violently. With that thought she swung her legs out of bed and made her way towards the one person she needed right now.

Since being thawed and brought to the future Steve had never been able to sleep peacefully, his mind poisoned by guilt he felt over the people he'd left behind, the life he had lost, the world he had willingly sacrificed himself for. His dreams were addled with the people he had loved and sacrificed, the ones that had borne the brunt of his acts of heroism that in the end had inflicted unimaginable emotional pain not only on them, but on himself too. With the weight of his anguish lying heavy on his chest, during his slumber his body unleashed his emotional unrest as he tossed and turned, the sheets tangling up in his limbs. With the sound of a knock at his door, Steve awoke easily from yet another troubled slumber and made his way across the room intrigued by a visitor at such a late hour. On opening the door he was met by Natasha clothed in what was clearly her pyjamas, consisting of plaid shorts and a loose white camisole, she looked bewildered and disoriented as he noted the tear tracks that trailed down her cheeks and the way her body shook ever so slightly,

"May I come in?" Her voice sounded frail and weak, lacking the usual strength and confidence she typically emanated. As soon as she spoke Natasha saw the wave of concern sweep over his features, causing his clear sapphire eyes to exude the kind of sympathy that provided comfort rather than condescension, and in that moment she felt the uncomfortable and unfamiliar yearning to be encapsulated and held in his arms. Hurriedly Steve stepped aside to allow her inside, his voice soft and gentle, laced with worry,

"Yeah sure, come in." Padding across the room warily she placed herself comfortably on his bed, bringing her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, her chin resting upon her knees as she gaze flitted anxiously around the room. Upon closing the door Steve turned to bestow his attention back upon the spy he so cherished, his heart momentarily shattered at the sight before him. She looked so small, so vulnerable and so unlike herself; he found the strong need to hold her, to tell her that whatever it was that was troubling her it would be alright. Placing himself on the edge of the bed by her feet, he rested his hands in his lap, his long fingers winding and curling in and out of each other as he contemplated what to do next. Natasha's eyes clocked on to this nervous tick, she stared in utter wonderment at how despite his looks he was still just the timid boy from Brooklyn with strong morals; a clear sense of righteousness; and an inherent problem with talking to women. Amongst the severe silence that had befallen the pair Steve's voice filtered through, worried for the striking woman before him,

"Nat, what's wrong?" Her instinct was to refrain from answering such questions, to straighten her stance, wipe any traces of emotion from her features and flatly reply with some dismissive retort or sarcastic quip. However with his tender and caring gaze permeating her well constructed facade, her will weakened rapidly, and before she knew it she had succumbed to his concern. Pausing for a moment she mumbled despondently,

"Nightmare." The shame of her admission taunted her and induced her arms to squeeze hard around her legs, as she envisioned the face of her handler striking the frightened child that she once was, goading her for her fear teaching her that to be scared was weakness, was a chance for the enemy to attack, to destroy you. Clattered by the trauma of her memory she once again wished that Clint was here, he knew her, he knew the nightmares that now tore at her scratching and clawing at her insides in a slow agonizing manner. She didn't have to explain, he knew. But he wasn't here, and so as her nightmares had increased in intensity and her resistance to the distress they induced wavered, she found herself ashamedly confiding in Steve. Ironically he was the last person who had caused shame to trouble her composed frame, during her absence from his presence she missed him, yearned for him and wanted him in a manner she shouldn't. **She couldn't**. Sensing her unease and discomfort, he deduced that the only way to comfort her was to impose vulnerability upon himself, and that he could do easily. Taking a deep breath, his fingertips continued to weave in and out, their speed increasing ever so slightly, he softly hushed,

"I get them too, mostly they're about Bucky or when the plane went into the ice... more recently though they've been about... you." Now he definitely felt exposed, he was incredibly aware of his fondness of the red headed spy, but to admit it to said woman was another thing entirely, he knew he hadn't succinctly said it but he undoubtedly knew she would have read between the lines. Embarrassed he turned his head away from her, his gaze moving to the other side of the room as a red flush crept up his neck and coloured his cheeks readily, awaiting a response that would ultimately be a cold dismissal. However he was pleasantly surprised by the intrigued question that fell from her lips instead,

"Me?" Turning back towards her he saw the genuine look of bewilderment that rarely featured upon her face, as she looked at him intently waiting for his response. This interest, rather than intimidating him, incited the scarce feeling of trust in him, reducing his feeling of weakness and allowing him to believe that to open up to her would benefit them both. His fingers had now halted their fidgety weave, however it had now shifted to his thumbs, which now tumbled over one another, brushing gently against each other with each spin, his eyes refusing to meet hers as he watched his hands and answered,

"Yeah... I guess that night affected me more than I thought." Despite his confession on the balcony a mere week ago, her eyes scoured over his face looking for the tell that would indicate his words were sourced from the desire to comfort, not fact. However with her gaze vehemently studying his face she could find no tell. He too felt the disturbing repercussions of that night, coercing a rare feeling of connection, and one that she had not encountered in a long while. In accordance with this unspoken bond she uttered,

"My nightmares include that night too." Alarmed by her admission, his hands stilled and his clear azure eyes studied her closely taking in the attractive pucker of her crimson lips; the captivating sparkle of her emerald orbs; and the flawless skin that caused her to positively glow in the low light of his bedside lamp. Noting that despite their comforting exchange her body remained stiff and rigid, he knew better than anyone that tonight Natasha could not be left alone, and if he was brutally honest after seeing her like this he couldn't leave her. Hesitantly and nervously he enquired,

"Would you... do you... umm... want to stay?" Her bright eyes now transferred swiftly from her fidgety feet, to his face upon which she allowed a soft and grateful smile to embellish her lips. Her muscles seemed to release their tension, as if his invitation had relieved her of a great burden, and another show of weakness which she wasn't sure she could cope with right now. With a nod of acknowledgement and acceptance, she replied, her voice radiating warmth and gratitude,

"Thanks." Wriggling backwards she tucked her feet under the covers and snuggled under, an action that provoked an adoring smirk to grace the lips of the super soldier, as he amused himself at how a deadly spy could be equally as endearing. Grabbing the blanket that lay draped over the bottom of his bed, Steve prepared to make a bed on the floor beside her, insisting on respecting her boundaries and implementing the gentlemanly conduct he always displayed. Eyeing him questionably, her brow lowered and on the bridge of her nose quizzical creases appeared before she figured out what he was doing, and abruptly interrupted him by sending a pillow towards his face. As it hit him, she teasingly reprimanded him,

"Hey... you idiot, you can still sleep in your bed." Recovering from the pillow assault he looked towards her, his features were momentarily held by the handsome expression of suppressed amusement, before she saw the genuine concern that glistened in his clear azure eyes,

"Are you sure?" In response to his considerate enquiry, her features softened notably and a appreciative smile shaped her plump crimson lips, before she politely answered,

"Positive." Returning the blanket to its rightful place and procuring the pillow she had thrown, he made his way to the other side of the bed, turning off the bedside lamp before placing the pillow on the bed and sliding under the covers. His heart pummelled rhythmically against his chest, hard enough for him to take notice of the effect he had on her, the effect that had haunted him ever since their parting at the grave yard. After a moment of silence he felt her shift beside him, turning towards him, within the darkness he could make out her silhouette and the enchanting sparkle of her eyes, along with the soft inhale and exhale of her breath. Despite her sometimes cold demeanour on occasions like this Natasha yearned for touch, for contact, to just be held and with the knowledge that Steve would never breach her personal space himself she boldly made a move. It surprised her how nervous she felt, it was not usual of her to feel this way, and she wriggled her feet together in response to the discomfort she felt from such a rare emotion. Sliding her hand across the mattress she found his hand down by his side, their fingers brushing softly against each other initiating a unified surge of attraction and chemistry that neither had encountered in a long time. Gently she slotted her fingers in between his, the warmth of his skin caressing her palms, and allowing her to sink into his touch. As she did so, Steve finally found his composure and so allowed his fingers to curl around her hand their fingers interlinking perfectly as though carved and created by the hands of fate for this particular moment. As they both relaxed into each other's touch, Steve's thumb traced circles delicately along her ivory skin marking her permanently and ensuring she could never forget the way he handled her with such care and attentiveness. Closing her eyes she willingly succumbed to the comforting presence he unknowingly emanated, her breaths evened out as the cloak of sleep encapsulated her; the last thing she remembered was the feel of his hand on hers. That night both of the Avengers slept peacefully, a rare occurrence for them both, and **it was undeniable that whatever they had left behind in that grave yard, whatever emotions and feelings they had denied themselves so adamantly this evening had reignited the meagre ashes of affection that had burned steadily for all those lost days. Within the shadows cast by the trauma that haunted them, they found light, hope and support in each other, and for now that was enough.**


	8. Nightmare Admission

_"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares."  
― __Megan Chance_

* * *

Her heart hammered hard within her chest thumping into her sternum with such force she swore it would crack; her ears were filled with the sound of her heartbeat thrumming with adrenaline and... Fear. She was absolutely terrified and to be honest it horrified her how crippling the emotion felt, one which she rarely encountered anymore, one which she was taught to control, to harness and to eliminate. She moved quickly within the shadows, her legs continually ticking over, endeavouring to remove her as far away from the threat as possible, but she could feel it... the paralysing and debilitating grips of terror. Her teachings had told her over and over again the negative effects of fear, how allowing it to take hold of you could end you before the fight had truly even started, a lesson which had in turn allowed her to rid the lives of many; fear when used against someone was an effective weapon. Right now, he was using her fear perfectly. She continued moving through the alleys as quietly and swiftly as possible, however she could hear him behind her, gaining on her. She could practically hear the smug smirk that crept across his chiselled features, the manic fire that would ignite his once pure azure eyes, now tarnished by evil, vengeance and brutality. Her mind reeled with all of what she had encountered, he was here, he was alive... how? How could that be possible? It can't be... Distracted by the thoughts and emotions that tumbled rapidly within her; with a leap he grabbed hold of her ankle bringing her to the floor with an almighty smack that reverberated off the walls of the confined space they now occupied. She tried to turn over, attempting to land a kick to his face, enough to allow her to get to her feet and take on a more attacking stance, however he figured out her next move and so grasped for her other ankle before twisting her by her legs turning her to face him. Her laboured breathes filled the still cold air as he loomed over her, a wicked glint in his eyes indicated to her that he was revelling in this, he wanted this, she was his now... again. His voice ripped through every other noise that she heard, his tone heavier than she remembered, holding a gravely edge and a roughness that indicated to her, he wasn't the man she used to know,

"О том, как я по тебе соскучилась Наталья." His gaze bore through her, as if he was peeling the flesh, the facades that she wore so well, revealing the Natasha of old, the woman he knew, the woman she tried so hard to forget. Dispelling the torturous feelings of unease that had plagued her since he presented himself, she managed to construct a plan of attack. During his show of bravado Natasha had procured a small blade she kept strapped behind her back, and in one swift clean movement she swept forward allowing it to plunge into one of the hands the held her legs, a strangled cry erupted from his lips, as she swept his legs from underneath him causing him to land on his back. Pulling yet another blade from behind her she sprinted towards her attacker, before lunging upon him intent on burying the blade within his throat, however his unharmed hand caught her wrist holding the knife a mere few inches from his face, he pulled himself back up before kneeing her forcefully in the gut and retrieving the knife she had held. Sprawled out on the floor she glanced up to see his look of disgust, as he settled her knife into his holster he pulled the other from his hand, a grimace contorted his face; however his eyes positively glowed with rage as he stepped towards her. His blood trickled from his fist, vibrant ribbons of red painting the floor in its own unique pattern, he spoke his voice ringing out, low and harsh,

"Вы никогда не знали, когда сдаваться." A grimace of suppressed fury tore at his once handsome and serene features; however she swore within this moment of torture she could hear the echoes of another voice. Permeating the heavy atmosphere that had befallen her current situation she finally identified what they were saying,

"... Nat, you're okay, I'm here..." It was Steve. At that thought she saw the glint of the blade as it came towards her and the pure glee and bloodlust that surged through his manic gaze, coaxing a scream she had never thought possible to wrench itself from her lungs, exuding every fear and emotion of pure terror she currently felt. Forcing her eyes shut she prepared herself for the deadly blow, every muscle in a her body tensing and contracting in a spasm of pure adrenalized dread, however she could still hear Steve's voice reaching out to her with his soothing tone, trying so hard to comfort her,

"... It's Steve, I'm here, Natasha..." That was when he said it,

"... wake up..."

Wrenching her eyes open, she gasped trying to consume as much air as she possibly could in order to cease the panic and fear that had consumed her wholly, her chest rising in falling rapidly in tandem with her desperate breaths. Amidst her frantic gasps for breath, Steve's voice reached out for her gentle and calm,

"Hey Nat, its okay you're awake." Turning towards him she noted she was laid in bed next to him, he was on his side his elbow propping him up as his fingers played absentmindedly with the curling tendrils of her crimson locks, in a manner that comforted her immediately. His features were sculpted by worry and concern, his brow slightly drawn together in apprehension whilst his lips were pursed tightly in a clean, crisp line of anxiety. His eyes conveyed such pure worry and concern for her, that she felt the sudden need to comfort him in turn, to dispel of the fear he now conveyed over her wellbeing, an emotional response she was certainly not used to feeling, and so within a hushed sigh she managed to expel some expression of certainty,

"I'm okay." Part of her didn't actually know if this statement was more for her benefit than his; however it seemed to have the desired effect on the soldier as his features relaxed considerably and the edges of his lips curled slightly in a smile of relief. Commanding her gaze back onto the ceiling above her, she yearned for something still and solid to concentrate on, to ground her fully to the present here and now... as far away from **_him_** as possible**_. _**Somehow amongst the panic of her awakening, her hand closest to Steve had wrapped itself around his wrist, locking tightly to him as if he was the anchor that would secure her from the torment of her nightmares. She didn't realise until he managed to slide his hand upwards from her hold, enabling him to smoothly slip his hand into hers, a gesture she welcomed readily as their fingers intertwined perfectly, before Steve softly asked,

"Do you want to talk about it?" His thumb stroked up and down the side of her hand, as if he were trying to coax her into opening up, to express to him the memories that haunted her so viciously every night. Before she had time to evaluate whether she would or not, it seemed her mind was on autopilot as she heard the unmistakably hard and defensive voice of hers respond,

"No." However as she spoke those words she was now so used to saying, Steve felt the slight squeeze from the hand of hers he now held, an indication that the word she had spoken so plainly had needed some enforcement. He knew that to push her into telling him anything about what she had dreamt would be met with an even stronger refusal to talk to him, and right now he couldn't bear the thought of her shutting him out, not after her long and arduous absence from his life. He couldn't deal with that again... he wouldn't. Instead he felt the burning need to tell her of his nightmares, of the dreams where he would relive finding her fragile and wounded body in his flat, bleeding out covering the floor in crimson. Despite the trauma this dream inflicted when he spoke of it his voice remained clear and concise, as if somewhat untouched by the after-effects of his vivid and harrowing visions,

"I still have the nightmare of that night..." He glanced back down at her, noticing she had returned her gaze back onto him, and took it as an indication that he should continue his explanation,

"... I walk into the flat and you're there, bleeding out but this time it seems to be faster and I try to stop it but it won't... and the room closes in on me as the blood rises, pulling me under with it." Turning onto her side she faces him fully, her hand still remaining in his as her other hands places itself on the back of his, sandwiching his between hers, whilst his other hand remained occupied with her curls, twirling them round his fingertips in a manner of reassurance and affection. Holding her attention securely he continues,

"When I open my eyes I'm back in the graveyard where we parted, and I'm watching you walk away and I try to stop you but I can't move and you can't hear me either, so I just have to stand there... and let you go." Her features betray nothing of the effect his words have on her, however her gaze is locked on him, her intense piercing olive orbs burning through to his soul, tugging at the feelings he houses deeply just for her. For him that's enough to let him know that she's listening, that she cares,

"The sky turns dark and the weather changes completely before I see across from me Tony, Clint, Thor and Bruce all dressed in black huddled over a gravestone... and I panic because you're not there so I run as fast as I can towards them, but when I get there they're all gone. But on the gravestone... is... is your name." At that her lips part slightly, as he shifts his gaze away from her unable to commit himself fully to seeing her response, as he feels her hands clasp tighter around his before she moves herself to a sitting position, her legs crossed facing him but her hands still holding his. Temptation becomes too much to handle as he allows himself to look upon her once more, removing the hand placed on the back of his she reaches out tilting his chin towards her with the gentle encouragement of her fingertips, before quietly uttering,

"Hey... I'm here and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." A smile of relief manages to worm its way across his lips, however she can still see the ever telling glint of fear for her in his breathtaking azure eyes. Her heart aches slightly at the thought that she's the reason that his usual carefree and comforting gaze is contaminated, she's another reason why he struggles to sleep at night, another nightmare in a life already plagued by so many. She hates herself for it, but she can't tell him... she doesn't want to tell him. At that thought she softy grazes her fingertips along his jaw line, before removing her touch from him completely and lying back down beside him. Her voice sounds removed once more, and she regrets how harsh and severe she suddenly sounds,

"Let's sleep." At that he turns slightly to turn off the bedside light before he too settles down beside her, keeping his usual respectable distance from her, however she can't ignore the enticing waves of heat that seem to emanate from his body towards her. She doesn't know what causes her to do it, and she doesn't even recall the thought of her actions before she does it, but amidst the still darkness she shuffles towards him draping an arm across his torso before settling her head into the crook of his shoulder. She can hear his breath hitch trapped within his throat, whilst she feels his muscles tighten and still, paralysed momentarily by her audacity and part of her is glad, even proud, that she has this effect on him. After a few beats of silence, she feels the arm of the shoulder she is nestled on move hesitantly around her, his hand precariously placing itself on her waist as he finally releases the breath he had been holding. **Despite her usual rule to keep herself distanced from others, from those she cares about, she feels that she owes him this much... in fact she owes him so much more, but right now this is as much as she can give, and she hopes that he knows what she's trying to say, because sometimes she doesn't even know herself.**

* * *

**Translation:**

_Oh how I've missed you Natalia._

_You never knew when to give up._


	9. Internal Punishment

_"Sometimes we can choose the paths we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all."_

\- _Neil Gaiman_

* * *

Unbeknownst to most, including themselves, Steve and Natasha had quickly fallen into a routine, one of which involved Natasha being snuggled neatly into the broad chest of a protective super soldier most nights. By instruction J.A.R.V.I.S had ensured that no evidence remained of this rather questionable behaviour, and so their fellow Avengers continued in the dark however they undoubtedly knew that the two had become ever closer.

It had been a full two weeks since Clint had left on assignment, and if he was perfectly honest despite his concentration being fully on the job in hand, in the fleeting moments which allowed him some rest bite, his thoughts would immediately go to Natasha. Was she okay? How was she coping? Was she getting any better? Who did this to her? Who needed to be punished? At that point Clint would usually recognise that he was about to go into overdrive, and that the anger simmering dangerously close to the surface had to be quelled before it decimated his current job. However now he was back at the tower, he was eager to ensure that Natasha was okay although on arrival to the living quarters it was perfectly clear he had very little to worry about.

The sight before him invoked a knowing grin from the archer as he observed from afar that Steve was stood at the kitchen stove, seemingly cooking breakfast, whilst Natasha sat perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. Her eyes were consumed with Steve, and they seemed to glisten in a manner so radiant he swore for a moment she actually looked in awe, which definitely was not an expression she occupied very often... if at all. Now she wore it just for Steve, and Clint knew immediately the inkling he'd had since they had all reunited definitely had more truth to it than he thought.

The next day Clint indulged in an afternoon lazing around with Natasha, a pastime which had be long overdue, but was now a reality and one he basked in gladly. Both still wore their pyjamas, Clint sat on the sofa his legs splayed out before him, whilst his lap was adorned with the legs of Natasha who's upper body lay out across the sofa, her head settled on the arm rest. They currently had The Big Bang Theory on the TV. Every so often their attention focused on conversation rather than what was going on in said programme, however neither really worried too much about what they were missing.

A subject that Clint had wanted to ask was genuinely how she was doing, however he knew her too well by now that to ask her straight out would just irritate her, plus she'd already complained to him about the number of times she was asked if she was okay. If there was one thing Natasha was not it was certainly helpless, and the constant pandering which had been showered upon her recently had indefinitely reignited her vehement dislike of her role as a patient. To be cautious with his shows of concern was indeed a priority, so it took him a fair few minutes to conjure up a question that would induce minimal backlash. With his hands placed on her ankles, his finger tips idly tracing circles onto her skin, he asked placidly,

"How've you been sleeping?" His eyes remained on the TV, as did hers when she replied in an equally impassive manner,

"Better." Her answer surprised him slightly but he didn't quite know why, for to be honest he didn't know what to expect her answer to be. Casting his gaze on to her he delightfully observed how her wild, bedraggled crimson curls fell loose from her ponytail, framing her porcelain skin and contrasting in a way that always captivated you. Her striking appearance had conquered many a man's heart, entrancing them and ensnaring them in a manner so sly it had consumed them before they even had time to deny her effect. This had become her integral weapon within a misogynistic world ravaged by greedy men who wished to own everything and anything, a beautiful woman in their eyes was a precious prize to won, never a threat. Such fools. Clint however had indeed found himself spell bound by her on his initial meeting with her, but beneath those emerald eyes he had seen far more than the exquisite beauty of a trophy, he had seen **someone who had been made into something she had not intended to be**. He had read her files in detail in preparation for his assignment, and even then some part of him had recognised the injustice that had been imparted upon her. He gave her a choice, a god given right to decide who she wanted to be, and it was plainly clear by the expression on her face, it was the first time she had been handed such a responsibility. Yes he had been captivated by her, but not just her appearance, by everything she was. For a long time, she was his everything.

Her attention remained secured on the programme before her, as Clint replied, his eyebrows raised in astonishment,

"Really? Well that's good." Not once did her eyes flicker towards him, as she responded, her answer exhaled within a released breath,

"Yeah." At that moment Steve strolled into the living quarters, donning a pair of navy jogging bottoms and an incredibly tight grey t-shirt that showed off his impressive physique to its full effect. Glancing at his two teammates and friends on the sofa he greeted them,

"Good Morn... wait..." Slowing his pace he glanced down at the watch adorning his wrist, his brow lowered as he inspected the time, before answering with tone containing warm hues of amusement,

"... It's afternoon and you're both still in pyjamas." Glancing towards Steve as he moved towards the fridge, Clint replied, his voice full of jest and teasing,

"We're living the dream Steve, L-I-V-I-N-G the dreeeaaammm." Clint's penchant for being overly dramatic and well... ridiculous was one of the reasons behind his bizarre response, however luckily Steve had become accustomed to it. Natasha had long ago become accustomed to it, but sometimes lacked the patience to tolerate it, as she jabbed her foot into Clint's diaphragm, accompanied by a muttered,

"Dork." Although she could not deny the amused smirk that embellished her lips as she did so. Their friendship was in many ways incredibly complex, however in others it was extremely straight forward. At times it could be perceived that they fell into the category of a love-hate relationship; however that was far from the truth. Both of them possessed a habit of being brutally honest to each other, something that others could perceive as mildly aggressive or offensive at times, but it was how they were and it somehow just... worked. Additionally their sense of humour could be incredibly dry and rather dark, but then Clint's humour also could be strangely odd and childish, a characteristic Natasha lacked. Despite this he seemed to be the only person who could coerce this type of humour from her, a task that was not easy. Amidst the intricate strands and laces of their friendship, adorned with the traits that clashed and the ones that tied them to each other in a bow of perfect synergy, they were always there for each other. Everything they had become as people, friends and Avengers had progressed and become through the bond they shared, and in that respect together they were never underestimated or rivalled.

Steve chuckled as Clint grunted in response to Natasha's jab, a disadvantage to being best friends with a deadly spy; she could bring you down with the tiniest and most exact movements. Opening the fridge Steve procured a bottle of water before turning back round to face them, his bright sapphire eyes taking in the view of his team mates slumped lifelessly on the sofa, before he enquired politely,

"Well I'm going to the gym so if either of you want to join, you're welcome to." He smiled gently at them both, two dimples appearing that make his features positively light up and his face suddenly seemed so much younger. Not in the sense of age, but as if all the burden he held as Captain America, as an Avenger, as a man out of time had just lifted, leaving him glowing in an expression of carefree youth. Clint quipped back in response, amusement lacing his tone, because to himself he was indeed hilarious... no doubt about that,

"It'll interrupt my dream living, so no thanks." Another languid laugh spilled from Steve's lips, as his hands played with the bottle he was holding, tossing and twisting it between his fingers, before his hilarity receded. As he walked past the end of the sofa behind Natasha, he voiced his acceptance of Clint's decision,

"Okay, I'll catch you both later then." However Clint couldn't ignore the involuntary action Steve displayed as he walked by Natasha, its execution so slight, so minimal that another may have overlooked it completely. As he had walked behind her his free hand had rested briefly on her shoulder, his thumb and index finger gliding gently along. His fingers then traced their way across her shoulder, skating along the soft skin adorning the lower part of her neck, before continuing to follow the curve of her second shoulder. Before he removed his touch from her, his fingers lingered desperately to the curvature of her shoulder, before he started to walk back towards the door, his touch now absent. The action was concise, tender and radiated affection, and much to the archer's surprise Natasha allowed it, her body showed no signs of discomfort in response to him. Clint had understood that during the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D Natasha and Steve had become close, their relationship evolving at a rapid rate into something that clearly held a depth and complexity that he had not known of. Natasha turned her body slightly, allowing herself to observe Steve as he walked away, before she spoke after him,

"I'll text you later." Steve answered, his commanding voice permeating through the soft hum of the TV, as he held his hand up in a slight wave,

"Okay." As he exited the room, Natasha shifted back into her original position, her gaze returning back to the TV screen in an attempt to ignore the knowing glances bestowed on her by Clint and the many questions she could see play along his lips. Raising one eyebrow he continued with his questioning expression, knowing full well that she would avidly ignore his enquiry, because her ability to be frankly honest with herself let alone anyone else was a difficulty, and that was being put mildly. The inkling Clint had felt for so long had now grown into a definite assertion, whether anyone else saw it or whether they knew themselves, Steve and Natasha held something for each other. Far more than something in fact.

To explore his new discovery further and in all honesty to try to exact some sort of response, whilst simultaneously irritating her in the playful manner he loved, he slowly extenuated his comment,

"O...kay..." At that she threw him a look that could definitely kill, before thrusting her foot into his ribs, with the exact force and precision that rendered him breathless as he groaned. Keeling over onto his side, his hand protectively found its way to his now aching ribs, as he felt the movement and heard meagre traces of Natasha chuckling.

As Clint gasped for air, his ribs aching in a manner that he had encountered way too often in his friend's company, he couldn't help but allow a grin to creep across his face. Their lives had altered greatly since their first meeting, and in turn their friendship had evolved and adapted, however they still remained forever attached and united in a manner that few would ever understand. The changes in Clint's life had lead to a yearning for his partner to find the same delight and happiness he now encountered daily. Her lack of belief that she deserved such a life was what held her back, and no matter the words and countless discussions he had with her she refused to accept the chance to live as someone other than a spy, other than Black Widow**. She more than anyone deserved that, and it was here that he found that perhaps the lack of choices she had been given in life had truly tainted her beyond his initial impression. To be given the choice to be someone to another, to be loved unequivocally had long ago been deemed an option she was not allowed. She punished herself for the decisions taken from her, for the life she was forced into, and now she allowed it to hold her back from the opportunity of love. From Steve. **


	10. The Familiarity of Him

_"Familiarity can provide the misguided illusion of understanding. Assume nothing."  
― Truth Devour_

* * *

It had become usual now that Steve and Natasha could sense when the other was awake, and frequently they would awaken too. Tonight was no exception as Natasha stirred from her sleep, her limbs stretched and wriggled in a bid to shake the fatigue that clung to them. Turning her head towards the side where Steve resided, she kept her eyes closed however she could see beneath her eyelids the light that emanated from his side of the bed. Deducing from the strength of the glare it was most likely to be from a tablet or laptop she murmured languidly,

"Please tell me you're not still trying to figure out how to use twitter right now." She felt him flinch beside her, clearly so engrossed in whatever he was up to that he was unaware she was now awake. This in itself set alarm bells ringing, for Steve was never usually so distracted he would lack the vigilance that enabled him to detect the oncoming of danger or the presence of another. Something was bothering him. These thoughts were again confirmed as his voice rang out through the silence of the night, distant and harbouring the tones of concern she had heard way too often recently,

"Ummm... no, not right now." Turning over to fully face him, she palmed her hand over her face, her fingers following the contours of her nose and cheeks in a bid to rid the remnants of sleep. Simultaneously she struggled to open her eyes, as she squinted severely as soon as her gaze made contact with the glare coming from the Stark pad Steve held in his hands. Once her eyes had adjusted to the strong radiant glow, she allowed her gaze to skate over his features and the sight that met her was one that had become far too familiar. His handsome youthful features were once again etched with anxiety and apprehension, causing his brow to lower and pinch in a frown of unease. His lips were pursed tightly forming a stern and severe line, whilst the light from the screen that held his attention so cast unforgiving shadows across his features. He looked tired and weary, the odd lighting causing him to appear gaunt and ill... disturbingly he looked every inch the age he actually was. With that troubling thought she addressed him, her voice light and seemingly untroubled but holding within the hidden traces of care,

"You've got your worry frown on, what's up?" Her body had now warmed up to the idea of being awake, as she leaned on her elbow and propped her head upon her hand, allowing herself to cast her attention wholly on him. Lowering the pad onto his lap, a sigh exhaled heavily from his lips as he combed his fingers through his already dishevelled golden locks, his impression still remained absent and unfocused, before his gaze met her face.

As his azure eyes shifted to her he instantly felt grounded and present, something he had been lacking during the past few hours, in which he had solely been focused on the screen of the tablet before him. Even in the dull light and the late hour, she still managed to look enchantingly beautiful. Her sharp features were highlighted perfectly by the meagre illuminated frosting, enhancing her flawless ivory complexion and bringing out the luscious crimson curls that flowed over her shoulders. Her olive eyes glistened and gleamed in a manner that made him wish to fall into her gaze and never make it back out. It made him wonder if she knew, did she always know the affect she had on people, the way she managed to enrapture them fully by just one illustrious smirk. He had seen it all too often the way men and women alike had fallen under her spell, bewitched by a desire they never knew they possessed. But here she was the deadly vision that held them within her controlling grasp and they didn't even know it. Steve on the other hand fully knew it and willingly succumbed to her hold knowing full well **she could hurt him in so many ways, but that was the chance he was willing to take. He hadn't been wrong yet.**

His reply brought with it a voice that was far more present, but held around the edges exasperation and unease,

"Sorry... I... I've tried using the tracking software to locate Bucky... and I got nothing. He's seemingly left no trace of himself anywhere, I just... I don't know what else to do now." Her gaze skated over the deep seated worry lines that had now appeared within his features, and she felt the grinding churn of guilt within her gut that she too had played a part in this increasingly familiar expression of his. Not one to ever butter her words unless the moment called for it, she answered him bluntly however her voice was smooth and gentle with a tone that bid to soften the blow,

"There's nothing you can do." His eye flickered to hers, and within them she could see the pooling of disappointment at her reply, but as he nodded his head slightly she knew that he too understood that there was nothing more he could do. She continued to talk, her senses urging her to provide some comfort to the man that she cared so much for, it was not her forte but she tried and she hoped he knew that,

"He will let you find him when he wants to be found, but that's not yet. But when it happens you will be there and that's everything he'll need." His gaze had wandered from her, his azure eyes looking uncharacteristically absent but the frown that had corrupted his features had at last diminished, giving back the many years it had robbed from his features. That was enough for her to know that her words had fulfilled their purpose, as he nodded his head ever so slightly again in agreement, before his hushed words reached her,

"I hope so." She allowed her lips to curl into a consoling smile, as she replied confidently,

"I know so." That in turn provoked a grin on to his face, instantly bringing back the vivid sparkle within his crystal blue eyes, and that in itself relieved her of a burden she did not even realise she had held. With that minor success she snuggled back down under the covers, as Steve himself turned off his device and placed it on his bedside table before following suit.

With his pillows rearranged just so he shuffled down under the covers, before he sensed her shift towards him. Leant upon his chest with his arm wrapped around her waist tightly in what had become a familiar fashion, she basked in the soft rise and fall of his breathes. The heat from the hand resting on her hip seared her skin, even through her pyjamas, with the emblazoned and unforgiving desire for his touch to yearn for her as much as her body yearned for him. A yearning she had learnt to silence, but still refused to leave her, continuing to burn on and on even under the weight of suppression. After a few minutes of stilled silence, the darkness wrapped around them in an envelope of their own, a place where they were just Steve and Natasha, his voice permeated the comforting silence,

"By the way I can tweet... I even retweeted the other day." He felt her lips against his chest alter into a smirk, whilst her body vibrated with the silent chuckles of amusement, before she retorted back,

"Someone is ahead of their century." The gentle melodic laugh that emanated from the soldier finally dispersed the last remaining embers of unease that had clung so vehemently to him. All at once Natasha felt the overwhelming relief that for the moment they could resume the somewhat unknown occupations they held within each other's lives. **However it unnerved her how this has become a feeling she now encountered, familiarity and routine were never good. Too easily are they predicted and disrupted, a combination that is never left undisturbed for too long.**


	11. Unknown Business

_ "The unseen enemy is always the most fearsome." _

_ ― __George R.R. Martin_

* * *

The Avengers had been alerted to a mass hostage situation, one on a scale that no one had ever thought possible especially in the setting it had occurred in. As the majority of the Avengers bar Natasha, Thor and Bruce equipped themselves in the back of the jet, Hill updated them on the situation,

"The whole of Westfield Garden State Plaza is being held under siege, all civilians inside are deemed hostages, all CCTV and security communications have been shut off. No doubt it's been an inside job..." As she spoke she utilised the touch screen display before her, showing a thorough plan of the building and the vast information relating to the current situation that it could provide. With nimble and deft touches she spun the image pointing out the exits of the building as she continued,

"... All exits are flanked by heavily armed men, all masked. None have responded favourably to any attempts at communication, an officer that approached one of these men was shot dead. No hesitation, whoever these people are they're not here to play." Within an exhale Steve answered gravely,

"They never are." His eyes continued to be fixated upon the information on the screen before him, his mind already formulating a number of approaches to the situation and selecting the most appropriate response. Hill continued to debrief her steady and concise voice permeating the concentrated silence of the contained space they occupied,

"The main issue: none of these men have been identified by our systems as members of HYDRA or any other terrorist organisation... these guys are whole new game changers." Tearing himself away from his entrancement of concentration, he broke his gaze from the screen and bestowed it upon Hill herself before asking,

"Have they asked for ransom, anything in exchange for the safety of these people?" Despite her short and succinct response, and her ability to keep her features indifferent to any emotions he could plainly read in her eyes unspoken bewilderment and concern,

"Nothing." It was disconcerting when any criminal activity seemed to have no definite cause, however it was even more so when their identification was completely unknown, it seemed that these people didn't even exist. No records showed any traces of them, despite their system being able to delve into the archives of the world these people were... nothing. They had seemingly never existed, walking anomalies who had decided for no apparent reason to hold civilian lives within their fingertips. Amidst the misty beginnings of tension within the jet, Tony's blithe tone rang out,

"Well talk about causing trouble for nothing." A small exhale of disbelief came from Clint's lips, as he sat reclined in one of the seats adorning the edges of the space they occupied. His ankle lazily rested on his knee in a show of inadequate relaxation, as he remarked,

"Can anyone else see the irony in him saying that?" At that Tony turned his body towards the archer, before pointing at the screen and replying,

"This bird brain is power play of the highest order, no one commits this much effort into a heist of such scale for nothing." His features betrayed him far more than Hill's, as his brow furrowed slightly in confusion his gaze looking lost and distant within a yearning to know the truth of the matter. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest however one hand had made its way to his chin, allowing his fingertips to stroke and play with the hair that grew there in a show of uncharacteristic unease. An observation that certainly was not lost on Steve as he too mirrored a similar stance. Sam who was also seated nearby, had seemingly also been lost within a whirlwind of thoughts and questions and was now ready to address them, as he asked,

"Have they contacted congress or the federal government?" Hill looked towards him as she answered in the precise manner that was always so her,

"No, and any contact attempted by congress or the government has been promptly cut off." With that Steve turned to address everyone, as he took a deep breath in and out cementing the beginnings of what he knew was going to be a tough day, he declared,

"Whatever they want it's our job to find out what it is, and we have to remember they have a whole load of innocent civilians in there... we can't just blast our way through." As the team started to disperse and ready themselves for the task ahead, Steve could not help but think of the missing member whose forte of discretion would have been a valuable asset at this current moment. Her absence from the field was permeating into his thoughts more often than not recently, disrupting his concentration and plaguing him with distraction, but now was not the time and with a curt shake of his head he moved on.

* * *

Natasha had been given her mandatory check up by Dr Banner, a routine that she now knew so well that in all honesty she probably could have done it herself. As Bruce gazed down at the tablet he held in his hand, clearly displaying all of her current vitals and test results, he stated in the gentle and tentative tone that was so him,

"Okay everything seems good, you just need to..." Before the poor doctor could finish his sentence, Natasha took it upon herself to finish it for him her teasing quip paired with the playful quirk of her raised eyebrow,

"Rest?" A barely audible sigh slipped from the Doctors lips as he removed his glasses, casting a concerned gaze upon his fellow team mate in a manner that was wholly apologetic, before decidedly answering her,

"Yes." As she replaced the jumper she had removed courtesy of her medical, her arms shimmying through the sleeves before she tugged it over her head and down her torso she remarked,

"That seems to be a popular word these days." Her lips curl ever so slightly into a smile that she supposes is to ease any ill feeling the Doctor may feel she has towards him, for it certainly wasn't his doing what happened to her. No that was all her... and **_him_**. Her comforting smile seems to do the trick, as Bruce's features visibly relax slightly allowing his brow to lift from its somewhat concerned and apprehensive position. His voice too seems to have lightened, bringing with it the correct amount of optimism and instruction,

"You're healing well Nat, but with the amount of damage that was done we can't rush anything. I'm sure you don't want to be out of the field any longer than necessary." Her fingers threaded delicately under the tendrils of hair that had caught underneath the collar of her jumper, as with a deft flick of her wrists the crimson curls were finally freed from their confinement. Addressing the Doctor once again she replied,

"I know Doc." A simple smile of gratitude gently curved her lips, before the silence that had fallen between them was interrupted by a ting that resounded within the room, telling her she had received a message on her phone. As Doctor Banner started to put away his medical equipment, Natasha glanced at her phone to read the message, it was from Clint:

_Approaching our location could you hack into their radio communications and report any info. Hawk out._

Immediately she felt warmth radiate within her chest and her fingers tingled in a show of enthused anticipation, whilst she could no longer physically play her part in battle she sure as hell had other ways. With a new wild sparkle of vigour within her olive orbs she glanced at the Doctor, her familiar smirk proving that right now she was back doing what she should be; helping the team, before she quipped,

" Well at least I'm useful for something." With an expression of triumph and vehement determination adorning her features she headed towards the communications room. Purpose emanated from her every stride, her gaze simultaneously skimmed her phone screen as she analysed the debrief she had received. All at once despite her enthusiasm at being involved, she felt the disappointment at not being there and the frustration at being prevented from fulfilling her role as an Avenger. She had a lot to make up for in her life, and she had paid the price for not being more inquisitive or aware, the compliance of her youth had allowed her to stand by and allow everything around her to occur. She had been selfish. Her teachings and upbringing had made her incredibly focused, crafted by those who had monitored her throughout her early life she had never questioned their activities... and she had paid for it. So dedicated to what she thought was the cause, so limited by exposure to anything other than what she knew she never questioned the goings on of the agency that made her, that created her. She knew that **_his_ **being had been all them, they had hidden the truth from her and despite her new allegiance and the knowledge she now had of all that had been, deep down she felt the badly healed scars of her past throb with betrayal. With a slight shake of her head she dispelled her soured thoughts as she sat down before the communications panel, her fingers moving in a familiar and knowing manner across the keyboard. Back to business.


	12. Play the Game

_"We're all in the same game; Just different levels._

_Dealing with the same hell; just different devils."_

_― __**Unknown**_

* * *

Something wasn't right, it had been far too easy to hack into the communication system of these mystery adversaries, and once she had done it was silent. It was connected meaning it was active however no one was talking, not one word had passed between any of them. With a deft flick of her fingers she connected to her team mates radios, and with a tone of composure that hid the mild concern she currently held, she stated,

"I successfully connected to their communications line but it was far too easy, and despite the fact it's active not one word has been said."Sam's voice responded, his deep rich tone holding clear signs of annoyance at the news,

"Damn... these guys like a mystery." It was then Steve responded, his commanding voice filling the room and immediately bringing upon her a feeling of security and direction,

"Okay that's not what we wanted to hear but we can handle that, remember we have to approach this carefully there are far too many civilian lives at risk here. Natasha and J have eyes on the entrances and exits we're not covering; any activity and they'll tell us." Tony responded in the typical jesting manner that was him,

"Got it old man, now let's get this show on the road." Gazing up at the electronic map of the shopping centre she could track their individual locations, as well as being able to view them and the areas they traversed via surveillance footage. It was quiet, too quiet to the point where even the police had ground to a halt as they struggled with what to do against a passive but incredibly organised foe.

As she sat analysing the situation herself, she simultaneously wished she was out in the field and able to fully contribute to the effort of her fellow team mates; her ears caught a slight disturbance on the line. With a few quick taps on her keyboard she brought up a visual of the sound waves, and sure enough a very slight wave was seen, there was noise. As if a switch had flicked the display screen in front of her started to flash in a controlled automated show of panic, as whoever she had hacked was now returning the favour. Defiance flooded her body, inducing a concentrated crease in her brow as she sternly addressed the attack, her fingers deftly tapping the keys in a deliberate and precise manner as she countered their commands.

Hacking had been one of her fortes; she revelled in its efficient and no-nonsense approach, no mess and straight to the point. She liked that, it was her kind of style. However whoever she was battling with on the other side seemed to know her exact moves, and the strategies she was to implement. Soon it became clear she was no longer attacking, she was defending, at that she sternly requested, annoyance lacing her tone with a vicious bite,

"J if you get involved hopefully the two of us can confuse them enough to block them out." Jarvis's clear and calm voice responded in his usual polite manner,

"Yes Miss Romanoff." Soon enough she saw that their joint effort was indeed holding off their opponent but it wasn't enough; it wasn't getting them anywhere they were stuck in defence. Then the room fell into darkness.

The veil of black seemed to swallow Natasha whole as every light had been extinguished, every tiny safety light and display screen, completely out. Her voice seemed hollow and empty in a room laden with such silence,

"J can you reboot the system? We need to get back online." She refused to believe that her perfectly honed technological skills had failed her, that even in the minor role she now occupied within the Avengers she had been futile. No response came from Jarvis, and immediately she knew that was bad, really bad,

"Shit." From memory she hit the appropriate keys, her ability to keep a cool head and resist the grimy clutches of panic enabled her to swiftly go through the routine response to a complete shutdown. Nothing was working; all she could hear was the sound of her laboured apprehensive breaths and the furious taps of her fingertips slamming against the keys. She was cut off from everybody; she had no eyes or ears to her fellow Avengers and had no possible way of communicating to them any information or possible dangers. As her mind analysed her current situation, trying to procure the next move to her tough predicament she heard the electric buzz of a screen coming to life... and it wasn't of her doing. The bright beams of light that hit her illuminated the room in drapes of glaring white caused her eyes to squint and close in response to the stark and harsh glow. Forcing them open her gaze fell upon the crisp white lettering that had appeared upon the large control screen before her, with words she had seen before,

**SHALL WE PLAY A GAME?**

* * *

Steve approached the entrance he had been assigned, his gaze monitored the area for any signs of activity or anything that could inspire a plan of action. Their current strategy had been rather basic but was all they could do: scan the perimeter and gather any intel on their opponents intentions or motivations. This is all in an effort to eventually create a course of action that would actually do something. It was to be no easy task with the vast number of civilians currently housed inside the shopping centre, in addition to the number of adversaries manning the entire building. The numbers just didn't add up, and recent information had made it ten times worse: there was a bomb. A bomb calculated to be powerful enough to blow up the entire place, leaving behind no survivors in its wake. Despite this hold up there had been no clarification on what ransom their opponents required from them, no requests or demands just still waiting silence, the kind that chilled every cell within you being and lingered for far too long.

As Steve strolled along, he came upon the sudden thought that his radio had been silent for a long time and with a team like theirs that was barely ever the case,

"Come in Barton do you read me?... Stark, Come in Stark... Anyone can you hear me? I repeat can you hear me?" A stony silence echoed within his ears, only the muffled sounds of distant commotion from the police who had cornered off the area reached him. In one final attempt his steady voice tried to summon his back up,

"J can you fix the communications line?" The quiet that met him told him that things had become far worse than expected, if Jarvis was down then that spelt trouble, deep deep trouble. Concluding that to return to one of the other entrances that had been assigned to a fellow Avenger was the next best plan, he turned on his heel but as he did so his foot made contact with a piece of paper. As his foot slipped slightly from beneath him, he glanced down to observe an envelope that had not been there before was staring up at him. On the front in elegant looping script, was written the word,

_Captain_

He opened it warily before casting his gaze upon the written words on the note enclosed, words he had seen not too long ago,

_Shall we play a game?_

As if on cue he heard the rough sounds of the men before him shifting, glancing up he found they had now moved clear of the door he had been assigned. One man had reached for the door handle, opening it in an inviting manner that signalled it was his next move, his call whether to proceed or hang back. He had no radio communications with anyone, if anything untoward happened no one would know. But then up until now no progress had been made, the lingering promise of the destruction and mass murder of innocent civilians had remained there always. Now was his only chance to save them all, to try and make sense of all that had come to pass. **It was his duty**.

His fingers released the note that had lead him to this moment, it's flimsy nature catching on the soft breeze as it floated to the floor, returning to the place it had started. His mind made up he strode towards the door with a purpose and determination that masked the smatterings of unease and apprehension he felt clenching within his gut. Once at the door the man who had opened it reached forward, and in one swift movement ripped the communications ear piece from Steve, before throwing it to the floor and crushing it beneath his boot. Turning his gaze towards him, Steve glared vehemently at the man, before he evenly stated,

"Thanks, it wasn't working anyway."

The corrupted innards of what once was a beautiful and modern shopping mall flickered eerily within the poor and damaged lights of the bulbs that remained. The jittery and sporadic flushes of radiance highlighted shadows, its beams reflected off the fractured glass that adorned what once were windows. Shards of glass decorated the floor, its crystal like nature also refracting the rare rays of light that fell upon them, their beauty hiding the truth of why they were there to start with. Gun shots. Upon one large wall an image of a glamorous and perfect woman, wearing very little, showed clear signs of a struggle as her abdomen held the dents and damage of a barrage of bullets. Her gleaming and flawless smile looked slightly demonic in light of the scene that surrounded her; there was nothing to smile about here. There seemed to be a hum of emptiness in the air, the echoes of movement and muffled murmurings reverberating within the broken shell of what once was retail heaven. As Steve followed the man who had been assigned to escort him, another three flanking his sides and behind, his gaze scanned the areas they traversed. Amongst the destruction of the building itself, laid far graver sights, the bodies of those who had fought against their captors. Those who had decided that they would not adhere to the evil that bore upon them so brutally, Steve's eyes closed momentarily as he prayed that they passed peacefully, begged for their forgiveness, and vowed to right what had been wronged. **That's all he could do right now**. He gritted his teeth, his jaw becoming tight, as he observed upon the shiny pale flooring the crimson evidence that many had lost their fight, lost their everything.

Entering into another section in which lounge chairs and sofas adorned the open area, the number of guards rapidly increased, and there casually draped upon one sofa was clearly the man in charge of it all. His arms were spread wide along the back of the sofa he occupied, his relaxed manner clearly a means to show how little he cared for the Avenger before him; however it also revealed the disturbing comfort he sought within bloody chaos. The suit he wore was incredibly similar to the one Steve wore himself, instead the torso, head and shoulders were black whilst his limbs were a burning scarlet. Upon his chest and shoulders white stars were placed, but the one feature Steve could not turn away from was the wicked grin that adorned the man's lips. Behind the mask he wore, his gaze raked up and down the Avenger before him, after which he spoke. His voice was heavy, rich and gravelly, laced with the harsh remnants of a Russian accent; it was everything you would have expected him to be,

"They say never to meet your heroes, how right they are." The smirk that slithered upon the man's face, made the urge within Steve to punch him erupt further, the fire within his veins burned with a rage he felt he could not quell. Not until this man was punished, ruined, finished. With a casual gesture, unfit for the current situation, with his hand he continued to speak,

"Do you have fun anymore Captain? Any hobbies? I do... this is one of them; luckily it's also my job." Steve could not resist the want to respond, the need to do something within a situation he was now unsure of how to deal with. With well fought control he icily replied,

"I thought they said never to mix business and pleasure?" The hilarity, of which the man before him felt at his statement, bemused Steve, for he was unsure whether it was merely the unkempt mind of a burgeoning psychopath or perhaps something more. He couldn't tell, and he hated it. **Natasha would know... she always knew**. The sinister chuckle from the lounging man interrupted his trail of thought; his mouth contorted and pulled into obscene expressions of amusement, before he muttered,

"If only you took your own advice." Steve couldn't quite fathom the meaning of this recent taunt, and tired of the play in which this man had tried to engage him in, he cut to the chase,

"What do you want?" As if controlled by the flick of a switch, the man's features lost all remnants of hilarity, a calm severity now pursed along his lips as he rose to standing. He was a little taller than Steve himself, however he was as equally built, muscular, strong, resilient. Moving with a slow control that demonstrated the pleasure of torment and supremacy, he placed himself before the Captain as he leaned forward. His face was a mere inch or so from his, as he commanded in a tone that reeked of hostility and, somehow, knowing,

"I want to teach the price of survival, something I'm sure you've learnt by now." Moving upright he removed himself from the close proximity he had been to Steve, however he did not move, did not retreat. He simply remained, as Steve replied, his words fighting against the want to shout, fending off the fire and blaze of fury and resentment,

"What has that got to do with the lives of innocent civilians?" As if asked a trivial question, an enquiry along the lines of what time it was, the man replied with an air of ease and complacency that was positively revolting,

"That's all part of the game, as are you." A soft smile edged his lips before he continued on,

"You Avengers, so much destruction and chaos, the ground you stand on so shaky. Why not shake it some more? Why not have a little fun?" The nonchalant shrug that accompanied his last question, permeated with the Captains resolve, the arrogance and conceit so clear. Despite his casual discussion, his flippant remarks, Steve had encountered his fair share of power crazed individuals to know to read between the lines,

"You want something, what is it?" The steely blue eyes that met his, gleamed with cruel intent and zeal, as his husky voice purred out,

**"You for now."**


	13. A Contest of Guilt

_"In life, unlike chess, the game continues after checkmate."_

_— __Isaac Asimov_

* * *

The route they were taking him was one that didn't need to be, he knew very well from his study of the plans of the shopping complex that this was a longer journey. The continuous thrum of so many footsteps on the glossed flooring resounded in his head, the rhythm trying in earnest to numb his every thought. Behind what could be described as a screensaver expression, Steve himself conjured up numerous plans and theories as to what to do next and exactly what were the identities, motives and intentions of his current company. However it seemed today was to be a day where most questions lead to an indefinite answer, no conclusion, no satisfying end just the uncertainty of the unknown. He hated it. As they continued to make their way through the shopping mall, they moved towards the central zone of the whole precinct and there he was met with the answer to their wayward path. Surrounded by numerous heavily armed and masked guards was a mass of civilians, all silent in terror. Their faces expressed clearly the feelings that the absence of their words could not, the fear upon their gaunt and pale features made sure Steve knew the reasoning behind their detour. This was to make a point, a warning of such, to tell him that if he wanted to oppose them there would be dire consequences. Consequences he could never atone for, never take back and never repay. They would all die.

His gaze reached out to all those who dared to avert their stare from the stricken focus point of the floor, their paling complexions and sunken features a show of the anguish, dread and pain that had infected them so. Those he could see clung to each other, their fingers curling tightly around whichever limb they found themselves holding onto, the desperation for safety shown clearly in the white of their knuckles. The pace of the guards that surrounded him slowed in a vehement desire to afford him a better view of all those they held, those who were families, couples and friends merely out for a pleasant day shopping. Everything was far from that now, a point reiterated when his gaze sought out the view of a man with a bloodied face, his nose clearly broken by the strike of an individual's hand. A young boy, no older than five, with eyes as wide as they could go and terror painted liberally upon his features found himself looking upon the legend that was Captain America. His eyes lit up and his expression positively gleamed with hope as his mouth opened to yell out to his favoured Avenger, his mother noted his intention and swiftly pressed her palm to his mouth to put pain to it. The child grasped at the edges of his mother's suppressive hand, earnestly attempting to free himself, as his gaze bore into Steve with the painful combination of desperation and optimism. He ended it with a soft shake of his head side to side, 'no' was safe and right. 'No' would keep him and his mother alive, but even the commotion made by the young boys faith in him prompted a guard close by to raise his gun in silent warning, a final blow to the boy's innocent flush of hope.

Steve wanted to speak, wanted to fight back and save the lives of all those civilians, of that child who idolised him so but he knew that to do so would undoubtedly condemn them to a severe and savage fate. He couldn't do that. As they moved him on, they entered an exit saved only for staff that led out into the loading bay, which was intended for the incoming trucks that contained stock for the numerous stores within. There before them waited a large police van, stark white with small blacked out windows intended for the containment of criminals where they were not to be seen. Shunted forward towards the opened back doors, the leader of sorts paused beside him motioning his hand towards the entrance into the van; his pernicious smirk followed his sinister invitation,

"After you Captain." With a jab in his back he felt the solid gun barrel press against him, a silent indication that to turn back was not an option, anything else was not an option. With that he stepped up into the back of the van, his hands had for a long time now been secured by cuffs that possessed a strength and resistance he could not break: Vibranium. Forced inside he was shoved to his seat on one side of the van, upon which two guards flanked him either side. With a casual gusto that exuded confidence the leader himself followed suit, placing himself opposite Steve where he too was joined by two of his fellow followers either side of him. Of course his company was in favour of him, a completely different situation as he observed the weapons laid upon their laps, ready and waiting. Getting out of this one was going to be no easy feat, but to save the innocent lives of those who did not chose this fate was a duty he had to fulfil. Too many times he and the Avengers had been responsible for the loss of life, those of which were of an innocent nature, of people who merely lived for their tomorrows, their families, their wishes and dreams. They ended them.

His thoughts were disrupted by the lurch of the van as it started to move, all those within the small confined space swayed side to side with the momentum causing their shoulders to touch. He had been told that if he was to comply, to follow instructions according to the man before him then these people would be spared. Their lives would resume normality despite the tainted memory of what had come to pass this very day; they may encounter new fears and worries, psychological wounds that would struggle to heal. But they would live. Steve's voice broke through the soft growl of the vehicles drive, his tone blunt and stark with purpose and intention,

"Let them go." As the vehicle continued to pull away from the complex, Steve could identify voices outside that confirmed the van could continue in its escape from a police patrolled area. Steve himself could not help but feel the bitter sting of the memories of what had happened before, where the organisation that he had trusted had long been spoiled left to rot and decay in the company of the unworthy. It seemed nothing changed. The man opposite him sighed heavily, his eyes rolling slightly in a clear show of exasperation embellished with a smidgen of pity and disappointment,

"Do you always think everyone is as honest as you?" He does not respond, however he knows that his face must paint a thousand words which he does not speak. His lips are pursed tightly with suppressed fury, whilst his jaw is stiff and his brow sits low above his eyes, his ability to conceal what he felt had always been a weak point out on the field. Steve's transparency however seemed to be a source of amusement for the leader, as a sly smile slipped upon his lips he stated,

"You're more of a fool than I thought... how disappointing." His gaze pierced into Steve, burrowing down deep into his soul in a manner that made him shift ever so slightly because this man was no longer just a threat, he's insane, intelligent, mischievous and unpredictable. Everything that makes for a hard fight, a hard win and painful repercussions. After a small expanse of tense silence, the distant sound of a sudden explosive blast can be heard, the crack and boom reverberating around the confined space despite it being far from the source. The ground shakes ever so slightly, causing the van to swerve in sequence with its disrupted path, but all Steve can see is the evil grin of a man with no mercy, no feeling and no regard. He's right about one thing, he was a fool a fool to think that honour ran through everyone, even those who were not deserving of it or were heavily compromised by far more poisonous qualities. Steve remembers all those he'd see inside that complex, all those who had worn helpless expressions that called to him, begging him to relieve them, to save them. He had failed. No longer could he contain the rage that brewed within him as he growled violently and started to thrash, pulling vehemently at the cuffs that secured his wrists. The man who faced him held no fear of the wrath of his vengeance; in fact he looked entirely pleased with himself in a smug manner that proved he felt no threat from a raging Captain America. The guards that flanked them both looked for instruction, however as they were given none they merely observed as their leader stood his hand clasped tightly around Steve's throat, his fingers digging into his flesh as he cut off his air supply. The strength he exhibited was equal to his own, this man was no normal human, he possessed something... something similar to Steve himself. His lung started to burn with the loss of air, as the man brought his face close to Steve's, he muttered firmly,

"**No one plays fair anymore**." With that he forcefully pushed him to back to his seat, his hand relinquishing his grip as he watched the Captain collapse back to where he had been, where he belonged: right where he wanted him. Steve's heavy breaths ripped the air with desperation, his lungs finally given the reprieve they so needed, his mind however thought of only one: that boy. The boy who had looked at him with such hope and belief, he had shook his head and said no, he had walked away and left him behind the fate of his life coiled tightly between the talons of the man before him. He'd failed again; people had died because of him... again.


End file.
